Read The Last Place She'd Look Online
Authors: Arlene Schindler
The Last Place She'd Look (19 page)
After too many dating disasters and a near-death experience, a loving relationship seemed worlds away. My birthday intervention set that goal so far out of my reach that I knew I felt too shattered and ill-equipped to seek it out. ”Just enjoy yourself,” was supposed to be my mantra. But I still hungered for love to breathe life into my stone-hearted, fragile self-esteem. I needed to launch a new plan: Why not go in another direction, using wisdom and healthy sensibilities? I knew the lessons of self-help advice by heart: The most important loving relationship was the one with yourself, not someone else. How about figuring out how I could like myself, and love myself too?
I called my touchstone, Julia. She'd been out of town, visiting her mom. It was so long since we'd spoken, I never even told her I was seeing TC.
“You're not going to believe what I'm doing now or what I've been doing since we last talked,” I began. “I just stopped seeing a woman who almost killed me.”
“Do tell.” Julia was intrigued.
“I was seeing this woman, TC.”
“Teresa Catherine? You met her?” Julia was incredulous.
“Met her, we've been lovers the last two weeks, until she almost killed us both,” I said. “You know her?”
“Sounds like her and her excitement factor. I had a crush on her. She gallivants at
Outfest
every year. Her promiscuity is legendary. Some gals thought TC stood for tough cunt. Sorry it got so dangerous.”
“That hottie from hell has driven me back to reevaluating my dating strategies.”
“Again?” Julia remarked, sighing.
“That painful probe of an intervention you seduced me into sitting through helped me see I should
hunt
like a man, and just have a good time. I'm giving myself a month to meet a guy to have a few dates with, see if something can develop; if not, I'll go back to women feeling confident, no more ambivi-sexual.
“Wow, strong words. Should I believe you?” Julia asked. “The point of that event was to get you to relax and crank back the hunt. Chill about it all, rather than burn to meet and greet.”
“I'm not looking for a life mate; I'm looking for a weekend, or a month of hook-ups and connection. Enjoyment. That's the birthday mantra, right?” I asked, hoping my plan was not absurd, while trying to win Julia over.
“Take a breath, take two breaths, and at least a week off! Get still and stop searching. Don't you see how obsessive you are? Sit with your emotions and feel your feelings.”
“I don't like my feelings. I don't want to be alone with them!” I said, churning in my own sadness.
I heard Julia sigh; I knew it was difficult for her to hear me speak my pain. “Listen, you have so much in your life,” she began. “I wish you could focus on everything else other than d-a-t-i-n-g. Put it out of your mind, for a while. You know, it's overrated and only brings more angst than pleasure. Besides, you'd give up men and retire your penis tree-climbing gear? You've been on the hunt for men, their approval, and male sexuality your whole life. Would you know how to stop?”
“Yup, if it doesn't work out this month,” I said, half-certain.
“I don't approve. But if you must, remember, this month has 31 days in it, not 30. Are you giving yourself the extra day?” she said, giggling.
“Yeah, I think I'll need it,” I responded. “I want to stop. I don't necessarily know how to. I've been programmed since birth to seek daddy's approval and society's. Not that either have noticed me or mattered for years.”
“Don't trash your man-hunting gear so soon. I know you…just stash it in the back of your closet.”
“You mean the one I'll have to come out of eventually?”
“Touché. The one I'm in—denial.”
“At least we'll be together. I like that.” I answered.
“You don't really have to pick a team. I'm not, and I'm not worried about it,” Julia said. “Just take it slow…you'll find your happiness.”
I knew she was right, but I was still uncertain. “What does happiness look like and how will I know when I've found it?”
“Haven't you written self-help articles about this? Just experience someone's company and stop asking yourself questions. Try that. See yourself in the ocean being calmed by the water instead of you trying to be a wave. How's that for a start?”
“Good beginning, I'll try it.” I said. So I thought I'd heed her words and start with a relaxing bubble bath. I cleaned the tub and found my best bath salts, turned on the water, and took off my clothes. Just as I was getting into the tub, the phone rang.
“Sara, it's Jessica! I'm back in town. Want to go to the museum on Saturday?”
“Sounds great,” I said.
“Botticelli would be more beautiful viewing it with you,” Jessica whispered.
I walked past a mirror on the way back into the bathroom, catching a quick glance at my unclothed form. Not bad, I thought to myself, Botticelli would approve.
We met on Saturday, at the top of the steps of the L.A. County Museum. Wind swirled around her, fanning her wavy copper hair, so she, too, resembled a Renaissance beauty, a Rembrandt muse. We hugged hello. Jessica's freshly washed hair surrounded my face, smelling like maple syrup and mint tea. The embrace lingered, neither of us wanting to be the first to let go.
We walked through the museum, exploring centuries of beauty, discussing brush strokes, lighting, and composition. I was looking at a painting and gazing out of the corner of my eye at Jessica. A few seconds later, I saw her turn to study me. We hugged again. After almost two hours of art exploration and surreptitious admiration, we stopped for coffee at the museum cafeteria.
“With you, these paintings look all the more beautiful to me,” Jessica said.
“Your eye for color and composition is amazing.”
“Years of graphic design, drafting, and architecture kick in all the time,” she added. “When design jobs slowed down, I got my real estate license. The designer's eye helps me with staging houses so they sell faster. I see things most people overlook. You should see me dress up a short sale.”
“I believe that,” I said, admiring her diversity.
“When I look at you, I see a bright, intriguing woman searching for a companion and a soft place to land,” she said taking my hand.
I marveled at her perceptiveness. We stood, tossed our coffee cups in the trash, left the cafeteria arm-in-arm, walked down the stairs to the side of the museum, the sculpture garden, where all the Rodins lived. Gazing up at them, we glanced back at one another for a loving embrace.
The hug melted into a heated, caring kiss that was passionate, yet safe and sane. I felt cherished. Things between us were fresh, new, and exciting, yet not about larger-than-life adventures, desire on fire, or taking bigger risks than before. With each caress, I felt my heart opening. This moment wasn't filled with opera or insanity. It felt like rebirth—life itself. I felt happy, peaceful, and for the first time in a long time, safe to be myself. I'd learned from my past not to hold too tightly to the future. But I felt happy and hopeful because neither of us wanted this moment to end. Safe and sane—that was my new mantra. I repeated it to myself over and over, all the way back to my place.
I went home to an emergency call from my editor. Could I write up
5 Ways to Get Close… Fast
and turn it in by midday tomorrow? After my day today, it was easy.
5 Ways to Get Close… Fast
Like yourself. Approach each date with confidence. You are worthy of being treated well and entitled to have a good time. If you can convey those feelings to your new man, he'll have a good time too.
Relax. He's nervous too. Sometimes sharing your feelings, or even saying, “Ya know, I'm kind of nervous tonight,” may put both of you at ease.
Find points of common interest. Hobbies, friends, movies, a love of animals…Have one or more of those in common and you've got the basis for a strong conversation that could lead to a strong relationship.
Regard him as a person and not a marriage prospect. Men sense when a woman has marriage on her mind. It makes them excuse themselves mid-dinner and never want to return.
Treat him the way you would want to be treated. Compliment his new tie. Thank him for showing you a good time. Let him know you'd like to see him again. If the chemistry is right, you will.
I could write just the right answers effortlessly. Living them, that was my challenge. I reread my piece again, hoping my advice would sink in…into me!
I now had 250
Facebook
friends, plus daily emails from Jessica and Derrick. Her I was thrilled with…Derrick not so much. What did his new status,
It's Complicated
mean? We didn't even kiss deeply. I hope he's not thinking of leaving his wife for me. Whenever I thought of him I was filled with discomfort and excitement, reminding me of the dominatrixes I saw, and the men in diapers, the spank followed by the gentle caress—schizophrenic and scary.
Derrick's latest email:
I have another business trip on Friday. I'm making it a weekend. So I can see you—dinner Friday night?
His boyish eagerness made me feel desirable—instead of my usual— invisible, so I said yes. Dinner was at a romantic restaurant with candlelight and wine. Derrick spoke slowly, softly, and sweetly about our last dinner together.
“And then you changed your
Facebook
status. Why?” I quizzed him intently.
“Being out of Chicago reminded me of the world I've been hiding from. The routines of family life don't give me time for reflection or for myself,” he explained.
“What's changed?”
“Me!” he said, smiling gleefully. He raised his wine glass to his lips, sipped, and then gazed deep into my eyes as if downloading his thoughts with one blink. “I'm more than a dad with teenage daughters. I didn't feel it in the core of my being—the way I do now. Besides, my wife has her interests and friends—that don't include me. So I should have my own life, too. We don't share a bedroom anymore. I'm living in my home office. That way the girls keep their continuity.”
“It sounds disruptive,” I murmured.
“I've never been happier,” Derrick insisted.
Neither of us wanted dessert or coffee. After we walked out of the restaurant, he leaned in for a hug. I complied. Back at his hotel as my car turned into the main entrance, Derrick touched my hand, commanding, “Park. Come up with me.”
I did as I was told. We walked into the hotel together, into the elevator, each not saying a word. When we got to his floor, Derrick took my hand and held it until he put a key in the door. He turned on the light, took my things, then lunged into me for a passionate kiss and body-to-body caress.
His ardor was contagious. Both hungry for affection, here was our buffet for feasting. Clothes unzipped, unbuttoned, and dropped to the floor with lightning speed as we stepped closer to the bed. Derrick, his taut but not Ack-like buff torso had a few fine clumps of light brown hair. He pulled the top bedspread back and politely ushered me to lie down on the crisp white sheets. This was not a soccer dad tucking his girls in for the night.
Derrick and I seemed magnetized together, with a Velcro-like compulsion, needing as much skin as possible to touch the other's nakedness, while kissing and devouring one another, as if the sex-starved hunger would never end. Why was I so hungry? After so much time thinking about Jessica, how could I be here, now? I told myself it had to do with fulfilling college fantasies and resolving my urges for men.
After what seemed like hours of kissing and caressing, Derrick took charge and penetrated me, his athletic torso and muscular arms proud, graceful, and confident. His eyes open, studying me, pleased and delighted to be where he was—not closed and hiding in fantasy like others who wished they were with someone else while inside me.
I could tell that Derrick was ready to come—sooner than he wanted to. So he now closed his eyes and did some energetic breathing to hold on a little longer. But ultimately he collapsed exhausted, still wanting to hold me.
Me on the other hand, I saw this as a one-time thing. Something I'd thought about that I finally got to do—like meet a Beatle or visit Morocco. I lay still, waiting for Derrick to move or say something.
After about two minutes he kissed my neck and whispered, “You're sweeter than I imagined.” Then for the first time since we'd entered the room, he rolled away from me to the other side of the bed, flat on his back, gazing up at the ceiling. “I've thought about this moment for 30 years,” he said, reflective and satisfied.
That statement made me uncomfortable. I sat up on the side of the bed, ready to dress and go home. Derrick's hand traced my back, then soothingly stroked my spine.
“Stay with me. Neither of us has anywhere to be in the next few hours. I want to hold you.” Derrick rolled towards me and put both hands on my shoulders.
Overwhelmed by his want and desire, I stayed, telling myself, “Leave at sunrise and be done. That way no one can get hurt.”
Morning broke, and I awoke wrapped in Derrick's arms. “Is this what it feels like to combine sex and love together?” I said to myself, delighting in the wondrously cozy feeling. I knew I had to leave, if for no other reason than to avoid morning awkwardness. I slithered out of his caress and into my clothes. I exited the room silently, certain that getting back to my apartment would help me reassemble clarity.
Back home, I stripped off my clothes and jumped in the shower, eager to wash away last night. Was this feeling the male energy April liked about me? Or was I taught well about cowards' behavior from the men who slithered away from me?
As I toweled off, I heard the phone ringing. Oh no, it's Derrick, I thought. I clicked the caller ID: Jessica. “Hello!” I chirped, gleefully yet guiltily.
“Sara, it's Jessica. I'll be in your neighborhood in a little while. I was wondering if I could stop by for tea? I'll bring fresh croissants!”